


Limerence, please

by JolieFolie



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Derogatory Language, Explicit Language, Friendship, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Rescue, Spacedogs, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 21:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12802878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JolieFolie/pseuds/JolieFolie
Summary: Adam thinks, "do you want a drink?" means exactly what it means, leaving him vulnerable to a horny creep at the bar. Little does he know, a certain someone with gifted cheekbones and zero qualms about kicking the shit out of creeps has been watching from afar and steps in to rescue our poor cinnamon roll.





	Limerence, please

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: the R-word, attempted non-consensual kiss, and brief violence.

He’s not a fucking hero. Darko wanted to meet in this piece of shit bar, thinking it’s the last place anyone would look for him. The place is dead. He’ll listen and knock back a few scotches—but that’s it. Fifteen minutes, and then he’s outta here.

The gorgeous young man with the curly hair was sitting alone when Nigel and Darko first walked in. What business a boy like that has in a hole like this is beyond Nigel’s knowledge and interest. He's like one of those weird birds that forgets to fuck off for the winter. The next time Nigel looks his way, he’ll have flown off. He feels this twinge in his gut—like he cares about what happens to the boy. Nigel knows what people are capable of doing—especially creeps—and there’s something about the boy’s innocent blue-green eyes and the vulnerable flutter of his eyelashes that makes Nigel wonder if the poor cunt would trust Hitler.

Darko notices his attention drifting, snaps him back. Nigel tries to stay focused on their conversation.

A man sits down beside the boy, buys him a drink. The band is playing; Nigel can’t hear what they’re saying from over here. The man has bloodlust in his eyes but the boy replies polite as if they’re at the supermarket and the bastard asked him to squeeze his cantaloupes.

Darko sees Nigel get his back up and glances over at what he’s been glaring at this whole time. Nigel gives his friend a warning look, already territorial over this boy he doesn’t know anything about.

“Undercover cop,” Darko guesses, finishing his drink. He says he’s going to take a leak and then they’ll leave. Probably senses Nigel is itching for a fight, wants to get the fuck out of there so they can come to this bar again.

Nigel sees the man lean over, grab the boy’s chin, try to kiss him. If the boy kisses him back, it’s on the level and Nigel will leave it be.

The boy freezes, eyes widening. The man nearly falls off his stool trying to pull the boy towards him. The boy stands up but the man won’t let go.

Nigel gets that unblinking look in his eyes.

* * *

The creep who he thought was a new friend raises his voice. “What d’ya think havin’ a drink means, you fuckin’ retard?”

Adam winces. “I—I just thought—“

A tall man dressed entirely in black shoves himself between them, his back to Adam. Adam steps back. There’s something about him that instantly demands respect.

The creep looks his lean frame up and down. “Who the hell’re you?”

The man grasps his face and head-butts him, sending the creep reeling. The creep tries to punch back but the man twists him arm and breaks it over the bar counter.

The band has stopped playing. All anyone can hear is the creep’s howling. Adam puts his hands over his ears. He wants to close his eyes but it’s like watching a car crash.

Another man, solidly built, comes out of the bathroom. His eyes alight on the scene and he dashes over.

Adam puts his hands up, terrified. “I didn’t—“

The second man ignores him, pouncing on the creep. He gets him into a half-nelson and pulls him to the door, dragging him outside. Adam glimpses the bloody pulp of his face and runs to the bathroom.

* * *

Nigel hands the last of his cash to the bartender to get him to hang up the phone. The patrons might have called the police but at least it’ll buy time. He’ll meet Darko by their car after he takes care of that fucking piece of shit.

The boy is gone, though. He knows the police will make sure he’s okay when they get here, but Nigel has to know for himself. Damn sentimentality will be the death of him.

The boy is leaning over the counter in the men’s room, head hanging over a sink. He looks up when the door opens and sees Nigel come in, large eyes trying to assess if he’s a threat.

“I came in here to cry but I don’t feel like crying,” he says, a little bewildered. His voice is steady and Nigel has to respect the boy’s ability to keep it together.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. I should have stepped in sooner.”

“It’s not your fault. Thank you for…”

Nigel turns on the tap at the sink furthest away, keeping a respectful distance as he washes the blood off his hands.

“… rescuing me.”

When the water runs clear, Nigel smiles at him. “Is that what I did?” The boy hands him a paper towel, then quickly steps back. Nigel looks down at the paper towel. “You’re too nice for your own good, sweetheart. So, you thought a man with ‘fuck me’ written all over his face just wanted to keep you hydrated?”

His brow furrows. “I didn’t see anything written on his face.”

Nigel looks at him in case he’s fucking with him. He glances at the door, keeping his ears keen for the sound of sirens.

The boy gulps, as if worried he’ll get the shit kicked out of him too. “Have you seen that movie The Imitation Game? Alan Turing had Asperger’s, probably. When people talk, it’s like a code or puzzle. I’ve been trying hard to play along, but I’m not very good at it, I guess.”

It’s rare that anything surprises him anymore, but this boy manages it. “All the better. I’m sick of games.” He tosses the used paper towel in the trash.

Then the boy’s standing beside him with his hand on his forehead. Nigel casts a sideways glance at him.

He blushes. “You said you were sick.” He lowers his hand, as if he knows he did something wrong but can’t figure out what it is.

Anyone else, Nigel would have broken their wrist. He doesn’t know where this burst of patience is coming from. “You’re better at deciphering than you think, sweetheart. Just don’t practice with assholes like that prick you were with earlier.”

Darko opens the door, motions to Nigel. He looks pissed, as if he emptied his wallet to keep the other patrons quiet.

Nigel imagines asking this boy to hang with them—then imagines Darko chewing him up and spitting him out. Poor boy wouldn’t last two seconds in his circles. Already, the boy is looking at Darko with huge eyes.

“Well.” Nigel sticks out his hand. “It was nice to meet you.”

The boy clasps it. His hand is smooth and warm. “Really?”

Nigel introduces himself and asks for the boy’s name.

“Adam.”

“Adam, I hope to see you around sometime.”

“Do you mean that? Or are you just being polite like when you said it was nice to meet me?”

“I meant that, too. Do I look like I give a shit about being polite?”

Adam considers him. “No.”

Darko, impatient, leaves, the door swinging shut.

Nigel tells Adam he’ll be back here, same time, tomorrow night. He gives him one last smile before leaving.

* * *

The next night, Adam is standing in front of the stage, watching the band play. He doesn’t know whether Nigel was making a promise or just teasing him. He keeps checking behind his back in case someone has something bad planned for him. Fifteen minutes, and if Nigel still isn’t there, then he’s leaving.

Nigel came alone. He watches Adam for a bit. When the band takes a break, Nigel approaches him. “Adam, you look gorgeous.”

He gazes at him wide-eyed, then looks up at his hairline.

Nigel cocks his head. “What are you looking at?”

“I’m trying to see if ‘fuck me’ is written on your forehead.”

That level of sass coming from anyone else would have irritated the hell out of him, but from Adam it’s oddly endearing. Nigel laughs.

Adam smiles, a little uncertain, but trusting. “You know, I was thinking… I’d like to be friends with you, if that’s all right.”

He contemplates him and realizes Adam actually cares about his answer. Out of habit, he takes a moment to savour the power before showing his hand. “I would like that, too.”

Adam’s smile broadens, eyebrows lifting. His expression is so innocent that, for a second, it makes Nigel forget about all the shit in the world.


End file.
